Prompts of Thedas
by nugkisses
Summary: Dragon Age Prompts Featuring Various characters of Thedas. Currently Zevran centric. Needed trigger warnings found at the beginning of designated prompts. Various genres.


**Prompt: Waking up in the arms of a loved one.**

(TW: mention of past ptsd/ child abuse)

Zevran awoke with old memories lingering on his mind. Wow, he hadn't had one of THOSE dreams in years. The one's that left him recalling what it was like to gasp for breath from pained ribs. Hit too hard when still too small to do much about it. While the dream doesn't throw him into a fit of anxiety as it used to when he was a boy, it's still startled him. Ah, but life is good now. So good. Arms tighten about him in sleep and Zevran grins madly. There's a certain peace of mind in the male elf's arms to be found and Zev presses his face into the other elf's neck with a happy hum.

It's not long before Meatloaf, sleeping at the foot of the bed picks up on the fact Zev is awake too early and snuggles up to the Crow's back. Zevran is officially sandwiched in, and being given gentle Mabari kisses to his ears. The hound wants to make sure he's all right. "Shh..i'm fine tonight friend. Old shades that hold no chains on me any longer. Settle down and sleep. Thank you." He turns long enough to give the hound a kiss to the muzzle, and then rolls over and goes back to sleep curled between the two. He's not sure how much of his heart healing is because of his own choices, and how much is because of the Warden and his hound. He finds he doesn't care, because he can't recall the last time he's felt so loved as he does in His warden's arms with the slobbering beast curled in the crook of his knees.

 **Prompt: Their sneeze when dealing with a particularly annoying cold.**

Zevran is under a pile of blankets a mile thick, a shivering sweaty , wet coughing, slimy sneezing , congested mess. The handkerchief by his bed is already soaked and he's recruited a corner of the quilt to the charitable cause. Meatloaf walks his way over to the bundle of groaning blankets. skittish and scared...There's a muffled sneeze, and a groan. And the dog just sort of curls behind Zevran's knees once he realizes it's his second favorite elf. The sneezes are loud, and make DISGUSTING horrible ungraceful messes of everything in a three foot radius if he doesn't catch it on a limb or the corner of the quilt.

 **Prompt: Their Reaction to a small child.**

Zevran is the first to admit he's half terrified when his Mal comes home with a screaming basket that is soaked, opens it in a hurry, and hands him a naked elven infant with the words "Hold him, I need to find something warmer than a sopping basket."

The Warden hands the babe over and Zevran tries to back away only to Have Mal correct his hold. It's then that Zevran notices the babe is shivering and wet, and all fear goes out the window as he wraps the babe into his jerkin. "What's _this_ now? Sopping wet... No one dried you from your bath little one?"

By the time the warden comes back with a blanket, He finds something he'd never thought he'd see. Zevran sitting on the bed, the babe half wrapped in his lover's jerkin and squealing in delight as Zevran tickles tiny feet. Zevran usually avoided children like the PLAGUE. If children showed up to come see 'the great Warden, The Hero of Ferelden" Zevran would make himself scarce. But for whatever reason Zev had taken to this one quite well. Days turned to weeks, and no leads on the child's origins were found. Mal stopped trying when he discovered Zevran was going out each night to tear down the fliers.

When he asks Zevran about it, the elf looks a little sheepish as he leans in the doorway, the babe passed out on the rug by the fireplace where it's warm. "Can we keep him?"

Mal looks to Zevran and moved in close, foreheads touching and hands trailing along the Assassins waist. "There's more to this isn't there? You hate children."

Zevran reluctantly agreed with a quiet nod. "Yes and No...Hate is a _strong_ word. I _dislike_ most of the local children. _Amore_ , we have the chance to give a child something _i never had_. He has no one in the world that cares for him. The children that come to our door _babbling_ all have homes in the town. You pulled him from a _river_. I can give someone a family, or at least _, I want to try_. With you. Does this…bother you? If it does, i know Alistair's cook will take him."

Mal grinned widely, pressing himself against Zervan and taking an ear into his mouth, "Not even a little. He'll be ours now."

 **Prompt: The way they look in the morning after a rough night.**

After Talisien's attempt to get Zevran to go back with him to Antiva, Zevran had downed some brandy once they settled on an inn, his old lovers blood still on his hands. How much brandy, Mal had no idea. The Antivan had come to bed drunk and morose, curled up to his side and not made a sound. Mal draped an arm over him and didn't ask. The next morning the black haired elf looked down at Zevran as he slept.

The Antivan's eyes were red with dark circles underneath. The damp pillow and his even more damp shoulder were telling and Mal again, chose not to ask. Zevran looked a wreck, a rarity when he wasn't sick. His hair was tangled beyond belief and his limbs hadn't fared much better vs the sheets. The blonde woke up, drowsy and red eyed, looking for Mal. He saw the Warden cleaning their things, his voice tired and scratchy. "Mal?" The warden looked over to Zev then sat on the bed, hand combing through blond locks. The Crow tugged him down into tired arms, and Mal didn't ask. He's not going to ask for Answers, he doesn't need them to be there on the rare days Zev can't sleep.

 **Prompt: The world is ending (probably). How does your character react?**

Cullen looks up from his desk at the Sound of Josephine having a panic fit on her way down the hall. "Hmm...Josephine is mad again...Maybe I can just hide in my office." He can hear the footsteps of the agitated Antivan woman before she makes it to his door. He sighs with a quiet. "Nope. Didn't think so..." The door slams open and the woman is a flurry of frantic motion at 6 am. He's been dressed for about fifteen minutes. It takes him a solid 30 minutes to find out whats wrong. Someone had taken Solas's paint and decorated an entire wing of the Castle with dicks, and two ambassadors from not so friendly with each other countries were due to arrive in one hour and to avoid the scandal they would have to share the same wing. Josephine was having a _small_ meltdown.

"Josephine, I, yes. ... _yes_...no, I have no idea who attempted a pornographic mural on the entire West Wing...I-...yes. _Look_ I'll take care of it. It's just some paint. Just put them in the same wing, if the dignitaries become hostile from being put into rooms next to each other I'll ask Krem to smooth things over or do it myself. When I go down to run through drills, there's _always_ someone who's been giving Krem trouble, I'll have Bull send them up to get started on clean up. These are peace talks. They'll have to learn to play nice sooner or later. Just **_breathe_**." Cullen lets a sigh or relief run through him as a much calmer Josephine takes her leave. Cullen drops back into his chair to finish the last of paperwork before heading down to the keep for Drills. World Ending disaster averted. Just _barely_. As he places the last stamp on the paperwork, then signs it, he stands and the chair scoots back with a loud noise. The Ferelden bends over to glare under his desk at Sera. "You'll have that cheesecake to me by tomorrow, 5 am _**sharp**_. " Sera busts into a fit of giggles as she climbs out followed by, "Grand! Thanks Commander Fuzz!" Cullen let the nickname slide in favor of smirking after the elf darting off. "Don't mention it..." He adds a little louder, "No, _really_ , _I mean it!_ Not a _word_ Sera!"

One last bit of tidying up on his desk before he heads down, and the desk wobbles. It takes Cullen a moment to look down to the table leg and find a block of scrap wood under one of the legs. "Really? I suppose I should have known better by now..." He kneels down, not the easiest task in plate mail armor, and lifts the corner of his desk just enough to pull the block free. It's glued. _**"Fuckdamnit Sera!"**_


End file.
